


The Great Inception

by PanchitaRoyal



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanchitaRoyal/pseuds/PanchitaRoyal
Summary: Sequel to The Great Desertion and Feast of Fools.Three years after Bulma mysteriously vanishes, Bra sets out with her reluctant fiancé, Gohan, to uncover the secrets of her mother's disappearance and hopefully, bring her back. As Bra sets about to do this, she’s confronted with a history regarding her parents she never knew but which might hold the key to finding Bulma…and stopping the downfall of the entire Saiyan Empire……Ten years after the Great Desertion, and Bulma is still trying to figure out her place in the universe… as a central figure to the rebuilding of Planet Earth, an ex-henchmen to the now destroyed Frieza Empire, and the mother of the newly Saiyan King’s daughter. Not to mention, her rocky long-distance relationship with said Saiyan King, and all that remains unsaid between them. Things get more complicated as a new band of Saiyan’s arrive to Earth demanding to see their King, and Bulma finds herself caught in a dangerous political game. Meanwhile, the newly minted King Vegeta is realizing that gaining power might not be as easy as keeping said power, and that being the Emperor of the known Universe might not be as meaningful if the right person is not by his side.
Relationships: Bra Briefs/Son Gohan, Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 40
Kudos: 41





	1. Seeking an Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Very A/U!! Sequel to The Great Desertion and Feast of Fools, and highly recommended that you read these two first. As with GD, this story will skip around from past to present and will mostly center around Vegeta & Bulma, but there's definitely some Bra/Gohan as well. Also, strong language, violence and sexual references/scenes.

** _Chapter One: Seeking an Old Friend _ **

** _21 Years After the Great Desertion _ **

_Come find me. Come find me...COME FIND ME. _

Bra startles awake, the harshness of the overhead lighting causing her to squint her eyes and blink a few times. _It’s just a dream_, she reminds herself. The same one she’s been having for the past three years now. There are no images, just the void of space. But the voice is quite clear in her mind.

Her mother’s voice.

_Come find me. _

“We’re beginning the final approach.” Gohan says with trained indifference as his hands deftly fly across the helm of the ship, Bra’s dream—and the voice—evaporating from her thoughts as she looks at the blinking console in front of her.

They approach the station in a small vessel named _Estila_, with just enough room to host maybe ten humanoids, if most of the tripulants double up. Thankfully, it’s just the two demi-saiyans for now, so there’s enough room to ignore each other from opposing sides of the ship, as they’d been doing for most of their journey. Except now they’re both in the cockpit as they approach a small, out of the way station named Mirus. There’s a ring of debris and junk orbiting the small station, almost giving the impression that it’s abandoned.

“I’m still not convinced we should be here.” Gohan states, for the ten-zillionth time.

“Yes, so you’ve said.” Bra resists the urge to roll her eyes as she taps into the computer console, ignoring as Gohan pauses to stare at her.

They’ve been at this for two weeks now. Flying through the endless void of the cold, dark space…from station to station looking for clues of her mother’s whereabouts. Or so Gohan thinks. In reality, Bra made it a point to track someone _else _first, and it seems that all signs lead to Mirus. Of course, she hasn’t shared any of this with Gohan, and deep down, she hopes some of his thick, dark hair falls out when he finds out…

“Why are you smiling?” He sounds annoyed, and Bra has to bite her lower lip to keep from smiling further.

“Nothing. I just have a good feeling about Mirus.” Gohan looks skeptical but doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he sighs audibly before running a hand through his hair. Clearly, he doesn’t share Bra’s feeling about the station.

Or about anything else, for that matter.

* * *

To Gohan, this is clearly another waste of time. But Bra hasn’t wiped the smile from her face, no matter that the station is the most deplorable yet, with a smell that suggests they haven’t emptied their waste containers in months, maybe even years. They weren’t even required to go through decontamination before boarding, which should have been their first clue to how terrible it would smell inside. And yet, Her-Royal-Highness-Princess-Bra-Eschalot-of-the-All-Mighty-Saiyan-Empire seems to have a skip in her step, her eyes gleaming with mischief as they near the entrance of what could only be described as the most regrettable bar in the entire known galaxy.

“What am I walking into?” Gohan should have figured something was up her sleeve sooner. She’s too calm, too collected…even with the smell. Perhaps it’s not too late to avoid whatever plans she has in mind, though, as he grabs her elbow and forces her to turn to look at him.

“A bar.” She points to the flashy neon sign they stand in front of as though the answer is obvious. A drunken patron stumbles out of the bar as she points, and her nose wrinkles in disgust.

“What will we find in this bar, Bee?” Her eyes narrow slightly at his questioning, most likely at the pet name he’s used to calling her ever since she was a baby. She used to adore the pet name…and now she clearly hates it.

“If you insist on calling me anything other than my name, then you may call me Your Highness.” She practically hisses as she forcibly takes her elbow back from his hand before making a show of fixing the black wig she wears. Blue hair on a Saiyan is a dead giveaway of whom she is, she’d claimed, and Gohan was inclined to agree. Although he suspects the dark wig serves another purpose…

“I will call you Your Highness the day you call me ‘My Lord’.” Gohan says in return, throwing his own tittle back at her.

“You’re not _really _a lord, Gohan.” She grumbles with clear annoyance before walking past him and into the bar. Gohan arches a brow but says nothing else as he follows after the younger demi-Saiyan. The hair of her wig falls just below her shoulders, her tail coiled around her waist, dyed brown. She wears the traditional deep blue jumpsuit the Saiyan’s favor, but wears no armor. Of course, this means that her figure is on full display, and unlike the Saiyan women she so desperately seeks to imitate, she’s all soft curves instead of hard edges. This draws the eyes of all drunken looking patrons in the room.

Gohan takes a deep breath and briefly wonders how many of them he’ll have to beat up before the night is done.

* * *

The station smells like shit. Which is exactly why Bra knows she’s in the right place. Even from their approach, she could appreciate the sort of space scum that frequents the station by just looking at the other docked ships, most of them patched together by spare parts, probably stolen, and sheer will. This is the sort of station where the most unwanted—and sometimes most-wanted—hostile, dirty and vile individuals come to escape; persecution, bounties, responsibilities…

Her blue eyes skim over the patrons of the dingy bar, lit only by sketchy lighting that clearly needs upgrading, the bar itself manned by a male so large that the glass in his hand looks like a child’s cup. There’s a group of three men in the far table who now look her way, one of them human-looking while the other two seem to be reptilian, but they don’t move from their seats.

No one moves, though all eyes are on her.

Bra smirks, waving her hair over her shoulder as she makes for an empty spot on the bar. Gohan follows after her but doesn’t sit besides her on the available stool. He’s got his mean, Saiyan face on, eyes slightly narrowed, brows wrinkled as he probably assesses the power levels in the room. She knows none pose a threat.

“You’re not my personal guard, Gohan.” Bra mutters as she waves at the bartender for attention.

“Can we get two Ginyu shots?” Bra asks the huge male, who nods skeptically before turning around to pour their drinks.

“Really? You plan to drink?” Gohan leans against the bar, his eyes surveying the parlor with as much skepticism as the bartender gave her.

“Sit. Relax. Nothing’s going to happen here, Gohan. No one cares who we are or why we’re here.” Bra takes the two shots placed in front of her, one after the other, the glasses making a _clink_ sound against the bar top each time she’s done.

“_Arch_.” She winces with the after taste but holds up two fingers to the bartender. “Two more, please. And a Hissy Fit for my companion over here.” She points at Gohan with her thumb, ignoring as he glares at her.

Five more Ginyu shots and two Hissy Fit’s later, and Gohan finally sits next to her, although his back is still to the bar and his eyes survey the parlor, but at least he’s not wearing his mean, Saiyan face. He looks more human now, especially as his cheeks gain a rosy coloring. His hair has been kept short and trimmed with none of the hard angles Bra was used to seeing him with…_before_. It makes him look…grownup. And he’s taken to wearing all black, which only accentuates the serious lines of his face and deepens the ridges of his brow…oh, and of course, makes him look like a beautiful, sculpted god from ancient times…especially shirtless, with every single muscle in his body sculpted to perfection…washboard abs included…she could do laundry with those abs.

Bra clears her throat if only to distract herself from Gohan’s handsome face, but she also succeeds in getting his attention.

“Why are we here, Bee—I mean, Your Magnanimous Highness?” Clearly, he says her title with both contempt and a slight hint of humor. He probably noticed her staring, too, as she knows he notices _everything, _but he’ll never remark on that. He never does. Instead, he keeps away from any subject regarding _them_, or a situation that would somehow force them to face the inevitability of their impending marriage. Or how they even got to this point, of being engaged to one another in the first place. 

“I mean, do you plan to ignore the subject until we’re both standing before the alter, drinking each other’s blood—or whatever it is Saiyan’s do, to talk about this?”

“_What?_” he frowns, the ridges of his brow deepening further, “There’s no drinking of blood.” He dismisses the whole subject with that, making Bra’s point. She can’t help but chuckle.

“I distinctively remember someone having to drink someone else’s blood.” She insists.

“That’s in the mating ritual itself, and only if agreed upon. It’s an old tradition.” He shakes his head dismissively. For someone who ran away from his Saiyan side for so many years, Gohan sure knows a lot about being Saiyan.

“The mating ritual…” Really, that’s the only part that sticks with Bra as she takes Gohan’s half full (or half empty?) glass of Hissy Fit and starts sipping from the straw. It’s not like she’s drunk-drunk, but the shots definitely have her head spinning. And her tongue loose.

Gohan sighs, bringing two fingers to pinch the ridge of his nose.

“Really, why are we here? We didn’t come half way across the galaxy to sit at the most deplorable bar in all five quadrants to talk about Saiyan mating rituals.” He insists with noted annoyance, his eyes following the movements of a hooded figure who enters the bar and heads straight for the back.

“Maybe I did come here for exactly this.” Bra counters, her eyes also following the shadowed figure as he takes a seat.

“We came here to find mom.” Gohan says and Bra’s head instantly snaps to look at him again.

“She’s _not _your mother.” Her hands ball up into fists until she’s sure her knuckles are white but she resists the urge to pound Gohan for the comment. Surprisingly, Gohan turns to her then, grabs his drink form her hands and sips the rest of the content. His eyes are locked with hers as he leans closer until they can almost share breath.

“I know why we’re here.” He declares after finishing the rest of the drink. Then, and much to Bra’s surprise, he throws his now empty glass with lighting speed and Saiyan accuracy.

It hits the hooded man right on the head.

* * *

Gohan knew he should feel livid, but in reality, he was secretly impressed with Bra. He had to admit, he didn’t see _this_ coming.

The hooded man is quickly back on his feet, having fallen from his chair after being hit by the glass. All the bar patrons have stop what they’re doing to stare at them. Even the sleezy background music stops. The three men sitting in the back of the room angle away, as though they want no part in what’s to come. Even the large bartender seems to hold his breath…

“Ah. Children…how I’ve missed you… _temper rampant demi-Saiyan’s_.” The hooded man says, muttering the last part, before unveiling his face to the room, his white hair spilling out, the red of his skin glowing almost orange under the flickering lights.

“Uncle Jeice.” Bra says as she stands, approaching the ex-Ginyu member turned Earth protector, turned—most recently— declared exile from the Saiyan Empire. They stare at each other for a couple of seconds before Bra runs into his arms for a hug. Jeice is quick to reciprocate, placing a hand over her wigged head in what Gohan can recognize as a genuine loving gesture. Remembering where they are, Jeice quickly pulls away and motions for the bartender before sitting down.

“We’ll need ten Ginyu shots to start.” Jeice states before turning his gaze to him and Bra. He motions for the two chairs available at the table before leaning back casually against his own seat. His hand casually scratches at the spot where Gohan hit him with the glass, but Jeice doesn’t comment on it. Bra is quick to sit, but Gohan has to take a deep, calming breath before sitting himself.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Jeice’s lips press into a taunting smile, his eyes on Gohan as though gauging for his reaction.

Surprisingly, it is Bra who seems to take the bait. “Oh yes, Gohan was just dying to be a part of the Royal family. You know, for _real_.” The emphasis is not lost to Gohan—He’s not a _real_ lord. He’s not _really_ Bulma’s son—the implication stings more than he’d care to admit, but he schools his expression to give away nothing. Jeice’s taunting smile drops and a small frown presents itself on his face.

“Why are you here, Your Highness?” Jeice turns his eyes to Bra, his fingers drumming on the table, expectantly. Though Gohan has the feeling Jeice already knows what she’ll say…

“Let’s not play games. We’re family, after all.” Bra states as though she’s not the one playing games. Gohan bristles with anger, but resists the urge to stare at her in disbelieve. Out of deference to who she is, but mostly because he might say something he’ll regret if he does.

“Says the queen of playing games.” Jeice, however, has no such qualms and speaks his mind freely.

“It’s not my fault you’re exiled!” Bra is quick to exclaim, although Gohan suspects this might not be entirely true. No one has bothered to tell him the whole story, and he isn’t about to demand King Vegeta for it. Jeice’s exile, along with the disappearance of Bulma (and that of his uncle and Krillin), have been clouded in half truths and veiled secrets.

“No, of course not. Of course not…” Jeice doesn’t sound convinced, but at least he’s back to smirking. “You want me to help find your mother.” He says, matter of fact. Gohan can’t help but look at Bra then, and hates it as his heart skips a beat. There’s nothing but hope in her eyes…a vulnerability he hasn’t seen in her for some time. Not since…_before_.

“You know I can’t, little princess.” Jeice’s voice is almost hushed as he speaks, and there is true regret in his eyes as he stares at Bra. For a split second, Gohan believes Bra might actually shed a tear…but then her eyes slightly narrow and she holds her chin up as though to stare down at Jeice.

“You can. And you will.” Bra stands, so now she’s truly looking down at him. There’s nothing but conviction in her voice as she speaks again, and no shadow of a doubt as to whom she is…the heir to the Saiyan Empire. The future queen. 

“_Lord _Gohan, arrest this man for treason against the crown.”

******


	2. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will begin to jump back and forth in the timeline. Again, if you haven't already, I highly recommend to read Feast of Fools and The Great Desertion first! Thanks for reading!

******

** _Chapter Two: In the Beginning…_ **

******

** _Present_ **

* * *

Jeice supposes he could have pretended to put up a fight, but then again, why bother? He was outnumbered by the two demi-Saiyans, and he didn’t want to bring more attention to the three of them, less one of the deplorables in the bar figure out whom Bra is. At least she made an effort to conceal her most distinctive features, what with the obvious wig and the dyed tail. He supposed the blue eyes were a dead giveaway, but then again, someone would have to get close enough to notice, and he doubted Gohan would ever allow this.

_Strange_, Jeice musses to himself. So much unexpected animosity and tension between the two demi’s…

“I know Mirus smelled of decomposing pride, but the _Estila_ smells like unspent sexual tension.” Jeice points out as he’s led by the princess through the corridors of their ship, her bodyguard-turned-fiancé bringing up the rear. Bra almost skips a step at the comment, but otherwise looks unphased. A glance over his shoulder shows Gohan trying to hide a smile.

“You’ll be comfortable here.” Bra pauses in front of a small cell, big enough for a small cot and a basin. No toilet.

“We’re not leaving Jeice in the brig.” Gohan states with surprising conviction, despite being outranked by the younger demi.

“Then he needs to start answering questions.” The threat is clear; be cooperative and walk free on the ship or be uncooperative and stay in the small cell.

“My accommodations on the Mirus weren’t any better, princess.” Jeice glances from Bra to Gohan before sighting dramatically. “But I promise to ‘cooperate’.” He concedes.

“Good to hear, uncle Jeice.” Bra heads down the hall again, obviously expecting Jeice and Gohan to follow after her. Jeice frowns after the princess, and finds Gohan wearing a similar expression.

“What the hell happened?” He finds himself questioning out loud before a hand slaps him on the back.

“Welcome to the _Estila_, -uncle- Jeice.” Gohan says before he follows after Bra, no longer bothering to ‘bring up the rear’ nor making sure Jeice doesn’t leave the ship before takeoff. Now more curious than worried, Jeice follows until he reaches a small common room. There’s a patted booth with a table in front of it and two stools, and a small kitchenette area with enough food capsules to feed the two Saiyan’s onboard for a year-long journey.

Bra sits on the booth side of the table and motions for Jeice to take a seat as well.

With another overly dramatic sigh, Jeice does as he’s asked, taking one of the stools. Gohan doesn’t take a seat yet and instead rummages around the kitchen before placing three cups on the table along with a bottle of what Jeice recognizes as tequila—an Earthly drink meant to incapacitate any coherent thought. Not waiting for an invitation, Jeice pours himself a shot and takes a swing, followed by two more before handing the bottle over to Bra. She arches a fine brow but doesn’t comment and doesn’t drink. Waiting.

Gohan finally sits, deciding on the booth as well, and sitting next to Bra though he makes a considerable effort not to touch her.

“Strange indeed.” He mutters out loud this time, drumming his fingers on the table as he makes up his mind…of what to say, and where to start.

“Fine, children. Let us start…from the beginning, I reckon.” And so Jeice begins a tale, which isn’t his to tell, but that both youths desperately need to hear.

******

* * *

** _Ten Years After the Great Desertion (Eleven Years Ago) _ **

Bulma smoothed her blue locks for the umpteenth time as she waits in front of the blank screen, waiting for the light to blink green, signaling an incoming call. The transmission was to take place at exactly 0900 hours, but it’s already five minutes past…enough time to make Bulma fidget in her seat, unsure if she should fold her hands or lay them casually at her sides. Perhaps she should lean forward? Maybe she should have worn a different shirt color, but it’s too late to change now. Definitely, she needs to square her shoulders—the computer chimes then, the light turning green, finally signaling for the incoming transmission.

Her first instinct is to hit enter to receive the transmission, but as her fingers hover over the key, she takes a long, deep breath…

_Enter. _

The computer screen doesn’t immediately change, but slowly comes to life until it’s focused on a familiar face. Familiar, though in so many ways the person staring back at her seems a stranger to Bulma, lightyears and lightyears away…

The ridges on his forehead are just as she remembers them as his brows pull together in a slight frown, his jet-black hair gravity defying, high cheekbones, naturally narrowed eyes…his lips press together in either suppressed annoyance or delight. Perhaps a bit of both. He’s so still, Bulma wonders if he’s a sculpted god or if the transmission froze. He blinks, though, and she knows he’s there, staring back at her. Her heart skips a beat.

“Hi.” She’s able to breath out after a prolonged silence.

Vegeta nods his head just so, returning the greeting.

More silence.

“Uhh…how are you? How are things running? What’s new?” Bulma tries to jump into her usual line of questioning, as she’s done throughout the years in similar calls. Trying to ignore everything that’s different about this call. Or the last four before…

“Everything is the same. Not much to report.” He states without elaborating.

“I hear another system pledged themselves to you.” Bulma tries to sound excited about this, despite her feelings on the matter. She wasn’t entirely keen on the newly formed Saiyan Empire’s continued advancement and growth, especially as some systems have begun to resist King Vegeta’s rule. Unlike Frieza, Vegeta did provide a choice for the newly liberated systems, but protection from the King and his forces would not be available unless they pledged their allegiances to him. Bulma didn’t really take issue with this, but she didn’t agree with the methods used to ‘convince’ said systems or how the Saiyan Empire will simply cut them off from any trade routes if not explicitly allied and pledged to his empire.

Her thoughts on the matter had only added to the clear and widening rift between them.

“They really didn’t have a choice. The _Ugarlas_ are too close to the Cold Systems.” He states this matter of fact, and Bulma tries not to show how much she hates his careless comment. Is he trying to goad her? The look of indifference, however, stings more than his words. He simply doesn’t care about her thoughts on the matter.

“I see….” Bulma can’t think of anything else to say and they stay in silence for some seconds.

“How’s the brat?” Vegeta asks, directing the subject to the one thing they have in common. Before, maybe a year ago, they wouldn’t have turned to the subject of Bra until much further into the call. First, they would talk business; Vegeta would seek Bulma’s counsel with diplomacy or technology inquiries; Bulma would tell him all about the advancements being made on Earth, and the improvements to the capsule technology originally invented by her father. Of how the government had been remade globally, and how she’d been asked to be Secretary of Extraplanetary Affairs, but turned it down, too busy with the technology she was making for Vegeta’s forces and Earth’s, and being a mother to their now seven-year-old daughter…

_Then_, the conversation would have turned to Bra and, to some extent, to Gohan. They would disagree as to how to bring up two demi-Saiyans; Vegeta insisting Gohan needed proper training and less schooling; Bulma insisting on the opposite. That had been the normal way of things for quite some years…until four calls ago. When he acted too busy for any of it. Cutting their call short, not really asking for Bulma’s counsel nor her opinion for anything.

“She’s great…she’ll come in to speak to you in a couple of minutes.” As always, since the calls were always started with Bulma alone and Bra would come in halfway through. “She’s been doing great in her training. Jeice is impressed with her abilities, even so young.” Bulma doesn’t bother telling him she’s also a genius like her, knowing he doesn’t really care for this part.

“Good.” He affirms with a nod.

“Gohan keeps inquiring about going on leave with his uncle. He’d like to spend time with Raditz in the summer break before he goes off to school.” Bulma tries to gauge for Vegeta’s reaction, but his face remains unchanged.

“That can be arranged.” He states, unmoored.

With the children talk out of the way, it’s already time to call for Bra so she can spend time with her father. And yet, Bulma can’t seem to move from her seat, nor to call for her daughter just yet.

Things need to be said. Bulma’s heart squeezes with just the thought of his reaction. Or worse, if he only shows indifference with what she’s about to say.

“Vegeta…” Bulma starts but pauses to catch her breath, her sweaty palms pressing against her pantlegs. “I think you need to come to Earth. We need to…_talk_.” About so many things, but mostly, about them. They needed to spend real time together. To _be_ together. It’d been what, two years since they’ve seen each other face to face?

“Isn’t this what we’re doing?” He questions, his brows furrowing into a deeper frown.

“This… is not talking. I don’t know what happened, but…this…_this_ is not working anymore.” She insists, begging with her eyes for him to understand. His reaction is almost imperceptible, but his brows relax somewhat and Bulma thinks he’s about to agree with her.

“I cannot go to Earth for some time. Maybe not until next year.” He finally answers, no emotion whatsoever in his tone. Nothing but cold apathy. The squeeze in Bulma’s chest is almost suffocating and she has to fight to breathe.

“Then, make time.” She insists, trying to leave no room for argument. This isn’t a request, but a demand, as though from one monarch to another.

“Earth is not in eminent danger and it’s simply not my priority right now.” His words sting to the point that her eyes burn with the promise of tears. _Not my priority_. The words reverberate in her mind, confirming her worst fears.

Not wanting to breakdown in front of His Majesty, King Vegeta of the Saiyan Empire, Bulma stands and goes over to the door, she pauses as her hand reaches for the knob and takes a tentative look back at the screen…

Vegeta is glancing down, as though he’s looking at a report or pad in his hand, completely and utterly oblivious to the fact that their relationship just ended.

_Not my priority. _

Bulma opens the door and Bra waltzes in with excitement, and takes the just abandoned seat in front of the computer, glee and happiness on her face as she looks to her father on the screen.

“Daddy! Guess what?! I beat uncle Jeice in hand to hand combat yesterday—” Bra’s excited words are drowned out by all the thoughts running through Bulma’s head. Most of all, they’re drowned out by the words she repeats over and over and over to herself…

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. _

Bulma doesn’t cry as she watches her daughter speak to her father without a care in the world; how he listens and nods approvingly to what she tells him. Her eyes don’t water as Vegeta reminds Bra to pay attention to her training and tells her how she’ll one day be the heir to his vast—and still growing—empire. Or how he promises to fly with her next time he visits.

There seems to be movement behind Vegeta and his eyes flicker from Bra to Bulma, who still stands by the door, motionless. Bulma knows this means he has to go, probably needing to attend to some empire related calling. He’s so busy. So important.

_Not my priority. _

In previous calls, Bulma would step in then, and tell Bra that ‘daddy has to go’ and that he’s very busy ruling the known universe. But today she doesn’t move. Their eyes lock for a split second, and perhaps there’s a tinge of understanding as Vegeta ever so slowly nods to her.

“We’ll _talk_ again…soon.” It sounds like a promise, but Bulma can’t bring herself to comment one way or the other.

“Daddy, can you bring me a space puppy next time you come? I really want one but mom won’t let me get one.” Bra requests-slash-whines before saying her goodbye (Vegeta, surprisingly, does not agree to the space puppy), professing her love for her father without a care in world. Or the universe, for that matter. Vegeta spares one last glance at Bulma and then signs off without another word, the monitor going dark.

* * *

“Miss Briefs?”

Bulma blinks back into the present, unaware of the question she’d just been asked by the Secretary of Extraplanetary Affairs, a human with only gray on his head, and large beady eyes.

“I’m sorry, Secretary Spool.” Bulma was asked to participate in a meeting with the secretary and other members of the Earth’s cabinet, dignitaries and, to her surprise, ambassadors from other worlds. There’s even a _capiter_ in the room, all of them looking at the presentation from the Secretary. Together they comprise Earth’s Security Council, and from time to time, Bulma is asked to participate in the meetings. Mostly due to her knowledge of the technology being used to defend Earth from any future attacks, but also because of her relationship with a certain Saiyan King…

“I asked whether you plan to take permanent residency here on Earth.” He repeats, and Bulma can see some nervous pauses from the other members of the council, some trying to avoid her stare while others look to her, expectantly.

“Earth is my home. I’m not sure why you’d ask that.” Bulma can’t help feeling as though she’s missed something. Truthfully, she didn’t read the entire briefing before arriving to the meeting, but she doesn’t recall anything about _her _being in it.

“We’re not throwing you out, Miss Briefs.” The Secretary states and there are chuckles from the other members. Bulma frowns, leaning back on her leather chair before crossing her arms, not sure she likes where this is going…

“As the council is in charge of Earth’s safety, we need to be appraising of any potential threats. As your daughter is a monarch, and you hold a close relationship with King Vegeta, we receive constant visits from other worlds. Most are simply curious about the King’s heir; others seek the King himself…but there might be others who come with more nefarious reasons. We simply want to ensure yours and the child’s safety, Miss Briefs.”

“You don’t have to worry about us, Secretary Spool.” Bulma tries to sound authoritative but instead, she receives a reassuring smile from the Secretary.

“Yes, of course. But just to be sure, if you plan to leave the planet at any point, please do let us know, so we may plan accordingly.”

Bulma nods slowly, accepting his request and hiding her reluctance. Then, more surprisingly of all, she’s dismissed from the meeting, the secretary himself walking her out and thanking her for all the work she’s done in Earth’s best interest. 

“The new capsules and their storage capabilities are truly marvelous. Please send my regards to your father for me.” He finishes, once again extending a smile that’s so genuine, Bulma has no choice but to take him at his word.

As she heads back to Brief’s Paradise in her helidome, Bulma contemplates what has become of her life.

Vegeta no longer needs her as his confidant, apparently too busy and too important to make her a priority. Earth has rebuilt itself so completely, it is no longer dependent on Bulma’s and her father’s inventions, but simply grateful for them…

Switching to autopilot, Bulma leans back and brings her feet up on the seat, hugging her knees to her chest. It is tempting to feel sorry for herself, especially as any thoughts of Vegeta brings fresh tears to her eyes.

Bulma should be grateful her plan a decade ago worked; she’d quite literally liberated the universe from Frieza’s clutches, starting a chain of events which destroyed the tyrant for good. Out of so much pain and suffering, Bulma was blessed with a beautiful and bright daughter, and despite her current relationship with Vegeta, finding love while within the clutches of Frieza’s hell, quite literally saved her. Earth is thriving…the universe is prosperous under Vegeta’s rule, her daughter is flourishing, with a relatively normal life—even Gohan is happy with the little family they have left, with his visiting uncle and the constant presence of herself and Krillin.

And yet, there’s something missing. A gapping hole within her heart. A hurt so big, she’s cried herself to sleep for the past week, ever since her last call with Vegeta. The worst part, she supposes, is suffering in silence. She can’t bring herself to voice her fears to her friends or her father, and least of all, her daughter. No one knows, nor suspects. Except maybe for Jeice...he seems to know there’s something amiss, but Bulma can’t bring herself to say it out loud.

Tears run down her cheeks but she ignores them as she again takes control of the helidome. And not a moment too soon, as suddenly the aircraft jolts so violently she’s almost thrown off her seat.

“What the—” Bulma struggles to right the helidome as a massive ship flies directly above her, almost sending her crashing if not for her quick maneuvering. Her cellphone starts ringing, and her comms system lights up with an urgent massage. But before Bulma can even get to her phone, or the comms message, five figures fly out of the massive ship and head directly towards her.

Their uniforms are pretty standard across the known universe, with the shoulder patting and spandex suites underneath, but there are other distinctive features which makes her realize what’s coming her way…

Dark, spiky and unruly hair…and the brown tails.

******

I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading! 


	3. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows right after chapter two. Hope you enjoy!!!

******

_ **Chapter Three: Blast from the Past** _

******

Vegeta’s pad blinks with another unread progress report. He ignores it, like he’s ignored the previous twenty messages downloaded within the last thirty minutes or so. It is endless…the work that needs to be done, the need of so many planetary systems, the thread of so many others…the looming concern of the Cold Empire, and now to add to it, the nagging feeling at the pit of his stomach that something is wrong with the woman. The last call between them was…strange. Different, somehow. As though the strain between them had finally snapped.

With a growl, Vegeta leaves the room he’s been using as his office and heads down the long corridor, ignoring any and all who come near him with questions, requests or the general nagging of subjects needing their King to make a choice; how much aid to provide to a certain planet, how many soldiers to send to squash talks of rebellion in another, something about a statue being built in his honor and the request to have him there for the unveiling; an invitation to a party with a particular diplomat…the list is endless. Boring. Awful.

_Useless. _

Vegeta hates all of it. Especially as the vein of his existence, a small alien with hardly any powers, marches in his direction.

“Not now.” Vegeta practically growls as Sorbet opens his mouth to speak, effectively cutting him off. The shorter alien frowns, but simply stares as Vegeta walks past him towards the only place where he can find peace of mind.

The training compound was made with the woman’s schematics and specific instructions, with the ability to not only train in increase gravity settings, but also ki proof so Vegeta can train to his heart’s content. There are perhaps three dozen soldiers going through repeated drills when he walks in, unnoticed to most as they go about their training at the command of Raditz.

“Halt!” He yells over the grunts and general noise of the training room, and all do as he says. Raditz turns to Vegeta before bowing his head in deference, and the soldiers follow suit.

“Out.” Vegeta doesn’t bother with pleasantries. The soldiers file out of the room within seconds, though Raditz doesn’t move from where he stands. Vegeta can’t help noticing he wears the chest plate armor made by the woman, a decade or so ago. Raditz doesn’t say anything but gets into his fighting stance, ready for the King’s attach. Vegeta dosen’t bother pretending he’s here other than to beat him up into a bleeding pulp, taking all his frustrations out on his most trusted subject.

* * *

Raditz takes the beating like the worthy Saiyan he is. He doesn’t hold back any punches, either, which Vegeta appreciates, but it’s not nearly enough to deter the King’s advances. And once Raditz is no longer able to keep his left eye open, nor take a single step forward, Vegeta stops the exercise, hardly panting himself. He barely broke a sweat.

Without a word, Vegeta walks over to a paneling on the wall and punches in a code. A regen shot slides out of a compartment and he silently hands it over to larger Saiyan. Raditz nods his thanks before injecting himself with the shot, his eyes instantly clearing and no longer swollen.

“So…” Raditz begins, filling in the awkward silence as he’s once again able to stand up straight.

Vegeta ignores him as he moves to stand in front of a viewing window so he can stare out into the void of space. The station, one belonging to Frieza before the Desertion, was repurposed for Vegeta’s use as his command station, until a new planet could be claimed as New Vegeta. So far, he’s had no luck in finding a suitable planet with the right atmospheric conditions that isn’t currently occupied by an existing civilization. Of course he could always make them move…but the woman had insisted this would make him as much of a tyrant as Frieza. For some reason, Vegeta didn’t like the idea of being compared to Frieza nor the woman’s disapproval. So, he’s still looking.

“I plan to go to Earth by the end of this rotation. Gohan wants to spend the summer with me. Maybe he’ll finally be able to spar with you by the end of it.” Raditz states as he moves to stand next to Vegeta, crossing his arms in front of him. Vegeta simply arches a brow, not sure he cares for the idle conversation.

Gohan is a tricky subject…both with Raditz and the woman.

“Maybe I could bring Bulma and the kid as well.” This time, Raditz suggestion earns him a hard stare.

“Hear me out—” He begins.

“_No_.” Vegeta says it as a finality, his fists balling at his sides with his raising temper.

“Why not? They miss you; you obviously miss them. I’m already going there, it’s a win-win!” He gives him a knowing look and Vegeta has the feeling that Raditz is no longer talking to him as his subject but with a familiarity he’s unused to hearing from the other Saiyan. 

“What do you mean, I _obviously_ miss them?” If Raditz could sense the threat in his question, he doesn’t show it.

“Well, we haven’t been to Earth in how long now? And…you’ve been grouchier than usual. Also, you’ve been beating me up more regularly, I just put two and two together.” He scratches at the back of his head, as though putting two and two together took too many brain cells. Vegeta scuffs but otherwise doesn’t contradict the taller Saiyan, his eyes fixed on the viewing window.

“I mean, I miss them too. And perhaps we need a bit of Bulma’s touch here, on the station.” Raditz doesn’t drop the subject, mistaking Vegeta’s silence as permission to speak freely.

“Stop. I will not be convinced of this. I’m not placing either the woman nor the brat in danger just so you can get out of sparring with me.”

Raditz sights audibly and stays silent for some moments, giving Vegeta the impression he’s dropped the subject. Finally.

“…then you should go to Earth, spend sometime there, have someone else run the Empire for a bit.”

Vegeta has just about enough from the nosy Commander and rounds on him with the intention of beating him up once again. Except they are interrupted by Sorbet as he waves his hand exasperatedly, almost tripping over his red cap as he runs towards them.

“There’s an emergency message coming from Earth!” He yells from across the room, probably to prevent Vegeta from blasting him for interrupting the Saiyan’s without being summoned. By the time he reaches the two Saiyan’s, Sorbet is heaving, gulping air a few times before finally being able to straighten up again.

“It’s for you, Commander.”

Vegeta frowns, not sure why an emergency call from Earth wouldn’t be directed at him.

Raditz nods and takes the pad from Sorbet, tapping on the screen before walking over to a console in the room to view the message.

“It’s a live broadcast.” He frowns as the console comes to life.

More surprising of all, is the person staring back at them through the viewing screen.

“Finally!” The woman sounds both relieved and upset, all at once.

* * *

Bulma stares at the screen with relief but is unable to hide her frustration. She’s been trying to reach Vegeta for the last hour but all her messages have gone unanswered, but alas, the moment she calls Raditz, they both appear.

“Your Majesty. Commander.” Bulma manages to say before her temper gets the better of her.

Both Vegeta and Raditz frown before sharing a surprise look to one another.

“What’s wrong?” Vegeta is the first to ask. She wouldn’t be using official titles if this wasn’t serious.

“Well, it would seem that once again, I have more Saiyan’s here on Earth than you do in your Empire, Your Majesty.” And before Vegeta can ask her what she means, Bulma steps aside and reveals the dozen or so Saiyan’s standing directly behind her.

The infuriating woman steps forward first, with thick dark hair longer than that of Raditz. She wears a dark brown robe with a branded belt with the letter “V” prominently displayed on the buckle, the trimmings of the robe a matted gold, the stitching fine and delicate. Her face is all sharp edges and hard angles, with wide set shoulders, her tail concealed beneath the robe. And she is tall, easily towering over Bulma.

“Your Majesty. We’ve been searching for you for decades now, when we heard of the legendary Saiyan who destroyed a great enemy, we knew we needed to find you. I am Lady Lettucia, Mistress of Protocol. We must come to you immediately; to serve you.” She bows then, and all others bow with her.

“Long live King Vegeta!” Someone shouts, and Bulma has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she faces the viewing screen again, her eyes locking with Vegeta’s.

“I haven’t shared your location, wanting to run it by you first.” Bulma explains, and the infuriating woman, Lettucia, snaps back up, glaring daggers in her direction.

“This Earthling has refused to provide vital information to us, so we may find you, Your Majesty. I suggest we dispose of—this _inferior_ being—at once.” Lady Lettucia steps forward as she speaks and this time Bulma doesn’t hold back as she rolls her eyes.

“This woman has come to _my_ planet, demanding things of _me_. For the last time, planet Earth is NOT part of the Saiyan Empire, but an ally. And you will stop disrespecting me, as I am an important…person…ambassador, or maybe a liaison?...” Bulma sort of musses the last bit out loud before regaining her line of though. She frames her waist with her hands and does her best to look down at the much larger Saiyan woman.

“I am important!” She finishes before turning back to Vegeta and arching a brow, waiting for him to agree.

“Yes.” He states, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Bulma is to be obeyed.” Raditz adds, finding his vocal cords after the initial shock of seeing so many Saiyans alive. The Saiyan woman, Lettucia, arches a brow, her attention now turned to Raditz.

“And who is this?” She asks, though Bulma can tell she’s not thrilled with the way Raditz spoke just now.

“I am Commander Raditz, appointed by His Majesty, King Vegeta to—” Lettucia holds up a hand, effectively cutting him off before he can say anything else.

“_Who _is your father?” Lettucia questions, suggesting with her frown that she might have an inkling, as she moves to stand in front of the viewing screen so she’s the only thing Raditz and Vegeta can see now.

“My father? His name was Bardock.”

“Bardock?!” she questions-slash-exclaims, “why, he’s a third-class! No son of a third-class will give me orders, _boy_.” The woman sneers towards the screen, and Bulma has to resist the urge to insult her back in kind, mostly because she’s surrounded by unfriendly Saiyan’s that would gladly destroy her at said woman’s directive.

“Commander Raditz is a first-class warrior and my chosen Elite, and he shall be treated as such, Mistress Lettucia. Is that understood?” Vegeta interjects, his tone pouring with the right mix of authority and cockiness only he can muster. Lettucia seems to bristle with Vegeta’s command, as though disappointed King Vegeta wouldn’t side with her, but slowly nods her head.

“The woman,” Vegeta points to Bulma now, “is to be obeyed while on planet Earth. You are not to engage the humans. You will not harm anyone while on Earth nor while you travel to my station. Do I make myself clear?” Vegeta all but barks out as he stares directly at Lettucia, but she wastes no time in bowing her head, all the other Saiyan’s following suit. Vegeta nods to the Saiyans before turning to Bulma.

Their eyes lock and there’s understanding between them for a brief second; _do not mention Bra_.

“Mistress, we have incoming. Two large vessels and three fighters closing in.” A Saiyan with chestnut brown hair reports. “Power levels?” The woman asks with indifference, as though this is simply protocol.

“…_O-off_ the charts, My Lady. Two of them are off the charts.” The Saiyan stutters, and all the lingering Saiyan’s take a seat at the various stations around the bridge, suddenly becoming busy.

“Remember, Lady Lettucia, no one is to be harmed.” Bulma reminds the woman as she goes to inspect a nearby console with the hopes of getting more information.

“One of them is…._Saiyan_.” A woman says with a slight hint of disbelieve. She has dark, unruly hair, and unlike all the other Saiyan’s Bulma has seen so far, she’s leaner rather than bulkier, her black jumpsuit sculpting her body so her abs can be seen, even through the fabric. And yet, she’s distinctively feminine, pretty even.

“Pepper…?” Mistress Lettucia clearly waits for further information about the incoming fighters, but before the pretty Saiyan can answer, Bulma speaks up, uncaring of the Mistress deathly glare.

“That would be Gohan, my charge, along with Jeice, my personal guard…he’s ex-Ginyu Force. The third is a human named Krillin. They’re here to get me back, as they assume you’ve kidnapped me…” Which, they had kidnapped her, but that seems to be water under the bridge now, especially after Vegeta’s instructions.

Speaking of which, the King still looks on from the viewing screen, a deep frown visible on his forehead.

“You’ve got this?” He asks directly to Bulma, their eyes locking again. There’s a pang in Bulma’s chest, as she remembers how precarious their relationship currently is, but nods slowly.

_Of course, I’ve got this. _

The transmission goes blank then.

All at once, everyone stops what they’re doing and all eyes turn Bulma. All Saiyan eyes.

“Now what?” Pepper, the pretty Saiyan, asks. She isn’t staring at Bulma but the woman standing rather closely behind her.

“Open the hatch.” Bulma answers, giving her first command. There’s a brief second when nothing happens and no one moves, and Bulma wonders if she’s taking her last breath.

The Saiyan with the chestnut hair nods and pushes a button…

…and the hatch opens.

******

Thank you for reading!! 


	4. Bulma-F***ing-Briefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this chapter, but life happened and computer issues too! Hope you enjoy!

*****

Chapter Four: Bulma-F***ing-Briefs

****

**Present**

“You’re stalling.” Bra accuses as she leans back against the booth, arching one fine brow as though to say ‘I know what you’re doing’. 

Jeice doesn’t smile nor sigh dramatically as she would expect, but instead eyes Bra with scrutiny. 

“Aren’t you the clever one.” He’s being sarcastic, his fingers drumming on the table between them, the bottle of tequila now empty. 

“I know the story about the Saiyan’s arrival to Earth, we were all there.” Bra points out. Sure, she was young, but she hadn’t been clueless about the various events that took place. 

“Yes, but you need to know your mother’s role in all of it. It will help explain…_things_.” Jeice insists, though his speech is a bit slurred. Because, _tequila_. 

“Why don’t we continue tomorrow? I think we all need some sleep.” Gohan suggests, stifling a yawn behind a closed fist. 

“_No_. He will tell us now.” Bra insists, ignoring how tired she felt, and how welcoming sleep sounds. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s easier to catch flies with honey and not vinegar?” Jeice mutters while pinching the bridge of his nose, his white hair falling around his face.

“No.” “Yes.” Both Bra and Gohan answer simulations, much to her chagrin. Jeice smirks, eyeing both of them with a renewed sense of curiosity. “You need to tell me what’s going on between the two of you. I mean, when I heard of the engagement…” he deliberately pauses as he makes an exaggerated gesture with his hands “I thought you’d be happy for sure” he points to Bra “I’m not sure about you, though.” He finishes as he eyes Gohan questioningly. 

“Drop it,” Bra warns, but before she can redirect the subject back to her mother, Jeice speaks again. “I mean, the sexual tension is palpable—” Gohan reaches across the table to grab Jeice by the collar of his jacket, pulling him until he’s halfway across the table, face to face with the demi Saiyan. 

“_Don’t_.” And his warning comes with a growl before he shoves Jeice back none too gently. Bra has to resist the urge to smirk, unwantedly thrilled with Gohan’s reaction. So feral. So—_Saiyan_. Bra clears her throat. 

“Alright, alright…let’s get this over with, then.” Jeice says as he straightens his jacket, leaning back on his chair while giving them a somewhat hurt look. 

“You know how the Saiyan’s arrived on Earth? Well, Bulma soon shared Vegeta’s coordinates and they were on their way, and thankfully, out of Earth’s hair. Before we knew it though, the Saiyan’s, and Mistress Lettucia specifically, were changing everything about the Saiyan Empire. Tensions were raised across the galaxy, sworn planets rebelling against Vegeta’s rule, and friction building amongst the allied planets not sworn to your father…and to make it worse, your parent’s relationship was as precarious as the political turmoil in the galaxy. That’s when the summons was made, by planet _Helio_, to both honor your father as the savior of the universe, and to invoke a call for peace and some ground rules, if you will. But Lettucia had other ideas…and she invoked something called the Conclave of Power instead.” 

Bra feels startled with Jeice’s revelation, and Gohan seems to share the same feeling as he shifts uncomfortably next to her. Jeice stares at them for some time, unblinking. 

“You’ve heard of the Conclave of Power?” He asks, but as he stares at them, Bra is sure he knows the answer. 

“Of course you have…” He realizes. And perhaps he finally understands why they’re engaged, and why it can’t be undone…

*****

** _Six Months After the Saiyan’s Arrival _ **

*****

Bulma’s reflection stares back at her from the oversized mirror. Her long blue tresses curled at the ends and pulled back at the sides so it looks like a cascade of blue falling down her back. Her makeup is understated, except for the dark lining her eyes so the blue of her eyes instantly draws attention. She wears a black pencil-skirt dress with a sweetheart neckline, similar to the one she wore when she first met Vegeta, back when they both worked for Frieza…

When they first met _and _had sex. 

Bulma rolls her eyes at herself, mentally berating herself for losing focus on her task. 

“I am Bulma-_Fucking_-Briefs, and I’ve got this.” She repeats her new mantra, as Jeice had insisted she did the entire time they traveled from Earth to planet Helio. 

_“You just need to remind Vegeta who put him on his throne, of who made him king!” _Jeice’s words echo in her mind, and Bulma knew them to be true. She’d been sitting in the sidelines too long, playing Suzie Home-Maker, and now things were out of control. And out of her hands. 

“Are you ready, princess?” Jeice mockingly calls to her from outside the open door and pretends to yawn. 

“I’m not a princess.” Bulma insists as she stares into her own eyes. “I am Bulma-_Fucking_-Briefs.” 

* * *

Bulma had finished her look with black pumps and a white clutch purse which perfectly matched her chandelier earrings, and as she approaches towards the large doors which will lead into the banquet hall, she feels more confident than ever. Bulma didn’t arrive with Earth’s official delegation, as Vegeta had forbidden her to come to the planet of Frieza’s destruction. He’d insisted it was too dangerous and demanded that she stay on Earth with their daughter. And she would have stayed on Earth, to mend her broken heart and bruised ego, except Jeice had talked sense into her. 

_I am Bulma-Fucking-Briefs. _She repeats in her mind. 

The Saiyan couldn’t be trusted. Lettucia, especially, couldn’t be trusted. And despite telling herself this had nothing to do with the pretty Saiyan woman named Pepper, Bulma knew better than to lie to herself. 

Her footsteps echo through the hall as she approaches the doors, and she can see as many a delegate from all the planets—once ruled by Frieza and now ruled by Vegeta—turn to look at her. They all know who she is; Frieza’s ex-henchwoman, the creator of the ki guns, both liberator _and _traitor. Sentenced to death once; exonerated the second time. Thankfully, Jeice is not two steps behind her, his white hair pulled into a top knot, his red skin glowing under the bright lighting, and his confidence oozing from him as he smirks his way down the hall. 

Two Saiyans stand at either side of the entrance of the ballroom, and a third with chestnut hair steps right in front of Bulma as she means to go inside. She’d met him the day they’d arrived on Earth six months earlier and learned his name to be Brussels. 

“Invitation, please,” Brussels says, almost apologetically. 

“I hardly think I need an invitation.” Bulma doesn’t skip a beat as she says this, meaning to sidestep the larger man. 

“I’m sorry, but no one goes in without an invitation.” Brussels insists and this time he does look apologetic. 

“By whose orders?” Bulma asks, arching a fine blue brow. 

“Mistress Lettucia—” But before Brussels can finish, Jeice steps around Bulma to stand nose to nose with the Saiyan. “Do you know who she is?” He asks, his voice thinly veiled in threat. “Do you think your King cares what Mistress Lettucia has to say?” Jeice continues, vibrating with energy and making Bulma’s hairs stand on end. Was he powering up? 

“Now, now. No need for that. This is just a misunderstanding, isn’t it, Brussels?” Bulma tries to play it cool, placing a hand on Jeice’s arm and lightly squeezing in a warning. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Briefs. But you’re not on the list.” As he says this, he points down to a pad in his hand.

“I demand to see Vegeta, then.” She says as she frames her hips with her hands. 

“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” Brussels explains, his cheeks turning rosier by the second under Bulma’s scrutiny. Narrowing her eyes, Bulma is faster than the Saiyan imagines as she snatches the pad from his hand. He moves to take it back, but Jeice blocks him by placing himself in front of Bulma. She scrolls down the list of names and smirks as she finds what she needs. The other two Saiyan’s by the door move forward, and before things escalate into a fight, Bulma hands the pad back to Brussels. 

“Let’s go Jeice.” She begins walking away, despite Jeice’s frown, a smirk on her face. 

_I am Bulma Fucking Briefs. _And it was about damn time she started acting like it.

* * *

Vegeta stood on a dais, an imposing throne made of black stone to his back, though he refused to sit as the large ballroom began to fill with delegates and honored guests. He wore black from head to toe, from the traditional jumpsuit to his boots, gloves, and cape. Everything was made of the finest materials, as Mistress Lettucia had insisted, his cape stitched with gold, and the sigil of House Vegeta adorning his chest as it clasped to the cape. 

Familiar faces made their way to the dais to show their respect to King Vegeta; most bowing, except for the man extending a handshake at the present moment. He didn’t care much for all the formalities, but Mistress Lettucia hovered to his right, ensuring decorum is followed at all times. The Earth delegation was headed by an older man whose hair had completely turned gray, and eyes so big Vegeta was unsure if he could even blink. Vegeta takes his hand in greeting while the human offers a disarming smile. 

“It is so very nice to finally meet you in person, Your Majesty. I am secretary Spool, and I am honored to be here with the rest of Earth’s delegates.” He introduces himself, although Vegeta knows fully well who he is. Mistress Lettucia clears her throat, her face as sullen as it always is, especially around what she calls ‘lesser beings’. He knew she would soon move to dismiss the earthling…

“I was hoping Miss Briefs would join us on this journey, what with all her experience in outer space and all, but alas, she stated she wasn’t available.” Mr. Spool is either wise or a fool as he brings up the subject of the woman, his large-beady eyes moving to Lettucia as he offers another one of his disarming smiles. 

A wise fool, Vegeta decides. 

“I insisted she didn’t come.” Vegeta offers, somehow feeling he needed to excuse Bulma’s absence. In reality, it had been the cause of much tension and friction, and perhaps the last straw for Bulma. She hasn’t responded to any of his calls since their last communication almost three months ago when he’d told her he didn’t want her coming along to planet Helio. He’d done it to keep her safe, but she took it as something else. She’d mumbled on about how he didn’t want her around him, how he didn’t want her by his side. 

_“Of course I don’t want you here.”_ Because here, it’s dangerous. Here, there are players Vegeta hadn’t yet figured out. Enemies lurking to strike when he’s most vulnerable. 

_“I knew it. Why not just say so sooner? I’m sure now that you have _options_, I’m no longer important to you.” _He didn’t know what she meant at first, but now he was beginning to suspect this had to do with the Saiyan’s arrivals. And the Saiyan women specifically.

“Secretary Spool, allow me to show you to your table.” Mistress Lettucia dismisses the Secretary from Vegeta’s presence as she moves him towards his assigned table, leaving Vegeta alone with his thoughts, if only for a moment. 

“You look magnificent, Your Majesty.” A familiar voice states from his left, and Vegeta is quick to nod to the newcomer before his eyes settle on her. He’s taken aback by her presence, reminded that the beautiful Saiyan woman is the direct opposite of her mother, Lettucia. 

Pepper wears a navy-blue dress—a very tight navy-blue dress—that while modest in neckline and length, leaves no room for the imagination as it follows every curve and every muscle of her body. Her hair has been pulled back sleekly over her head, so it is not wild and unruly as Saiyan’s hair tends to be. And while she wears no makeup that he can note, her features are subtle, her skin soft and cheeks rosy. 

“Pepper.” Vegeta nods to her again but doesn’t offer much else in terms of words. He isn’t an idiot…he knows what Lettucia is up to, making her daughter _available_ for his needs, as she’d put it once. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, Your Majesty?” Pepper asks a bit too casually, her eyes boring into his as though there aren’t hundreds of other beings in the room right now. 

“It’s adequate. Your mother made sure of it.” It was grander than Vegeta would have liked, reminding him too much of Frieza’s revelries from years past, which he was always forced to attend…instinctively, his eyes seek out the upper balconies of the ballroom, expending to find them empty except for the vivid memory balconies always elicit from him, and of the first time he’d met the woman.

Instead, piercing blue eyes stare right into his dark ones as though piercing right to the center of his dark soul. Like a ghost from the past, the woman stands there, gripping the balcony ledge. 

“Your Majesty?” Pepper questions, and before she can follow his line of sight, Vegeta turns to her. “Tell your mother I need a moment and I am not to be followed.” He turns from Pepper, then, and without glancing up at the balcony, he makes his way across the crowded ballroom, many standing and bowing as he walks by, though most are drinking and eating to their heart's content, unaware of his movements. Various Saiyan’s stand at attention, and from across the room, he can see as Pepper delivers his message to her mother. Lettucia stops short of growling out loud, but Vegeta ignores the pointed look as he finds the stairs to the balcony. 

He pauses for a brief second at the bottom steps before ascending the stairs, unsure if his mind is simply playing tricks on him. 

The woman stands, staring down to the ballroom, her blue hair cascading down her back, her tresses long and luscious as the first time he met her.

“It’s a beautiful party.” The woman remarks, somehow knowing he’s there. For someone with such insignificant ki, it unnerved him—and thrilled him—she always knew when he was near. 

“Such a shame I wasn’t invited.” She says, still not turning around to face him. Vegeta can’t help but smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“And yet, here you are.” 

She turns her head just so to look at him over her shoulder, her hair spilling down her soft skin…a smile tugs at her lips “No one gets to be free.” She says, repeating the first words Vegeta ever uttered to her all those years ago. In a time of despair and sorrow, of death and destruction. The time of Frieza’s reign and both of their imprisonment as they worked for the very evil, they hated most. 

“Aren’t we free now? Frieza is dead.” Vegeta retorts. 

“Yes, he is dead. But will there be another tyrant?” The question hangs in the air for a moment before she finally turns around. It knocks the breath out of him. To be so close to her, finally, after almost three years of nothing but cold, dark space between them. 

“You look so…_kingly_.” She remarks as her eyes roam every inch of him, from his head to his toes. “So…_black_.” She finishes her assessment as she takes a tentative step closer to him. “And you look the same.” He responds, returning her scrutiny in kind as he drinks her in with his eyes, before taking a step forward so only an inch of air stands between them. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls.” He points out as his gloved fingers grace the skin of her shoulder before lightly tugging at a strand of blue hair. Bulma exhales, her breath fanning his face as he leans down just so, his lips hovering over hers. 

“And you’ve been a complete and utter asshole.” She rebuffs but doesn’t pull away from him. 

Vegeta smirks and means to close the small distance left between their lips, except they are interrupted.

“Your Majesty. Your presence is required downstairs.” The Mistress of Protocol’s tone is cold and calculative as always, and yet there’s an edge of surprise as her eyes widen as they settle on Bulma.

“How did you get in here?” Lettucia questions, and before Vegeta can tell her she’s out of line, the woman turns to face the Saiyan, her hands at her hips and deathly confidence in her eyes. 

“I’m Bulma-Fucking-Briefs, you _bitch_.” 

And despite the pride for Bulma’s words, Vegeta can’t help but feel the woman has, once again, signed her death sentence. 

* * *

Thank you for reading! 


	5. Conclave of Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! Sorry this took so long, life has been a rollercoaster (I'm sure for everyone else, too). This chapter picks up right after chapter 4.

Chapter Five: Conclave of Power

****

The look of shock on Lettucia’s face is almost enough to make Bulma’s troubles worth it. The Saiyan is not only at a loss of words, but she looks to be rethinking her entire game plan, now that Bulma is here. Vegeta steps forward, reminding her of his exhilarating presence and the fact that they were about to kiss. Bulma wanted to play a bit harder to get, make him pay for how he’d been neglecting her and casting her aside for the past year or so…and yet, as soon as she saw him, she had a desperate need to be in his arms.

“I specifically ordered not to be interrupted.” His voice is thin as ice, and the stare he offers Lettucia is that of a king to his subject.

“I-I apologize, Your Eminence. I didn’t want our guests to wait for your declarations. I thought it be prudent—” She’s cut off as Vegeta raises a hand, and she falls into silence. To her credit, she does look sorry, although Bulma hardly doubts she’s sorry for interrupting them, per se.

“I will speak when I deem it prudent. Not before.” Vegeta then dismisses her with a wave of her hand, and Lettucia bows low before starting her descend on the stairs. She glances over her shoulder, though, and as their eyes lock, Bulma knows Lettucia will not be forgiving of her witnessing her embarrassment. Nor the fact that she managed to get in without her consent.

“I was turned away at the door by your esteemed Saiyans. Obviously, by her orders.” Bulma is quick to say, not wanting to waste the opportunity to point out Lettucia’s evident flaws.

“How did you manage to come in again?” He asks, amusement now evident as he arches a brow in question.

“Commander Raditz walked me through the front door as his date.” Bulma saw from the list on Brussel’s pad that Raditz hadn’t arrived yet, and that there was a plus one next to his name. As Commander, he outranked Brussels and the other two Saiyan’s at the door, and he led her inside. Jeice had to stay outside, however, as he didn’t have a ‘date’ …she’ll have to deal with him later, though, as he wasn’t pleased with this.

Any amusement is gone now that their eyes lock again, and Bulma can’t help the pang in her chest, the squeeze so intense she has to physically take a step closer to Vegeta to alleviate the feeling of longing. They endured the clutches of Frieza’s hell together and somehow managed to not only survive but to win. And yet there remained so much unsaid between them.

“I’ve…” Bulma can’t hold his gaze, for some reason, embarrassed at admitting what she wants to say. “I’ve missed you.” She’s able to finish after taking a deep breath. Vegeta doesn’t respond with words, but he soon brings a hand up her back, moving her hair gently to the side until his hand cups the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his stare again.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He insists, but his eyes dance around her face, pausing over her lips. “Well, I am here. Because _you_ need me here.” Bulma counters, though her insistence is only half-felt. Her heart is drumming fast within her chest in anticipation of what he’ll do next. Hopefully, kiss her, or else she might start shouting at him. Vegeta smirks, probably knowing exactly how she feels and what she wants, his fingers lightly applying pressure to her neck before he finally leans forward until his lips press against hers. He’s quick to deepen the kiss, assaulting her mouth with his tongue until she forgets who she is and why she’s there.

Their kiss is endless but over too fast. Vegeta’s hands linger, pressed against her neck and lower back as his dark eyes dance around her face—from her eyes to her lips. It was an _I miss you, too_.

“Why have you been pushing me away?” The question is out of her mouth without a second thought; her tone edged with accusation.

“You mean, keeping you away, safe?” He counters, eyes slightly narrowing.

“Safe? From what! You seemed to forget we _both _worked for Frieza once.” Bulma points out as her hands frame her hips. She was _Bulma-Fucking-Briefs_, and she’d undone the Frieza Empire almost singlehandedly.

“Right. And yet only one of us died at his hands.” Vegeta’s words hit her like a splash of cold water, and she could once again feel the sting of Zarbon’s blade across her neck. Vegeta’s gaze follows her thoughts, lingering on the faint line there—the only visible reminder of that fateful moment. But Bulma wasn’t the only one to die that day, and as she looks into Vegeta’s dark eyes, she knew this was also what he meant. And now, they had Bra to think about, and whatever he intended to do, Bulma knew it was for their daughter. So she would have a future free of turmoil and death.

“I don’t like Mistress Lettucia. I don’t like that there’s a rift between us. I don’t like that I’ve been sitting idle, on Earth, twiddling my thumbs.” There, the entirety of the truth, more or less.

“I don’t like her either, but I need the Saiyans to make this work. Running an empire is…compliated.” Bulma knew it took a lot for him to admit what he’d just said. She places her hands over his chest, enjoying how his hard muscles press against the fabric of his dark suit as he continues speaking. “I didn’t enjoy this rift, as you called it, either. And you are not twiddling your thumbs on Earth. You are keeping our daughter safe.” _Well, then_, now that he put it this way, it wasn’t so bad.

Bulma’s hands move to wrap around his neck to kiss him, except Vegeta’s head sharply turns to the stairs, and he suddenly grabs Bulma by the waist and levitates them off the balcony floor. In a blink of an eye, they land in front of Vegeta’s massive throne, those in the room murmuring and gasping in surprise as they suddenly appear there. Many come to their feet and bow their heads. Bulma doesn’t miss the surprised and shocked expressions of many who recognize her. She doesn’t miss the narrowing eyes of those who thought her an enemy from Frieza’s time, either. Ambassador Spool enthusiastically waves at her from his table. Jeice somehow made it inside and now stands near the back, next to Raditz, leaning casually against a large column. He winks at Bulma.

Their appearance interrupts Lettucia mid-speech, but she doesn’t skip a beat as she turns to Vegeta, bowing her head. “Your Majesty. You’re just in time for the declarations.” She states, ignoring Bulma as though she wasn’t there at all. Vegeta feels taut next to Bulma as he clears his throat and steps forward to say a few words of gratitude for everyone’s presence (it was more like a grunt than a thank you). Bulma simply hovers back, eyeing those in the room and looking for anything that might prove interesting.

“The Saiyan Empire declares the Conclave of Power.” He announces and nods for the Misstress of Protocol to explain what this is. There are murmurs of excitement and whispers of what this could mean going around the banquet room, all eyes on Vegeta. Bulma narrows her eyes, unsure of what this means.

Lady Lettucia says loud enough for the entire place to hear. “In Planet Vegeta, the Conclave of Power was held to divide the weak from the strong. The faithful from the faithless. Marriages, trade agreements—all decided during the tournaments—even acts of war.

The Conclave is an opportunity for each of your planets to put forth a worthy fighter to represent you. Your standing amongst the Empire will depend significantly on the tournament battles to come. If your warriors fall, so shall your planet. It is declared!” She finishes, and an echo is heard as the other Saiyan’s around the room repeat the words.

“_It is declared_!”

The murmurs around the banquet hall grow loud as those sitting around the tables talk one over the other. Bulma could see as some of the planets ambassadors, especially those not known for their brute strength, shook their heads. Vegeta steps forward then, and the room hushes once more.

“The Conclave of Power will be more of a ceremonial tournament.” His eyes flash with deep anger as they skim over the Mistress of Protocol. “However, I encourage you to participate.” And with that, Vegeta declared the evening done and ordered everyone out of the banquet room. Except for the Saiyans, Bulma, and Jeice—the latter sharing a worried look with her. There was something not right, but Bulma couldn’t quite place her fingers on it.

* * *

As soon as everyone else left the room, Vegeta rounded on Lettucia, fist balled at his sides. “Explain yourself.” His voice was thin as ice, and he could feel a burning rage build inside of him, threatening to explode into his Super Saiyan form. They’d agreed the Conclave of Power would be nothing but a ceremonial competition—not an outright tournament.

“The Conclave will allow the Empire to measure the worth of the planets. If they are not worthy, then they will be slaves to you, Your Majesty, and the Empire. If they prove worthy, then they will have a better standing amongst the rankings of powers. Much like the Saiyan’s value power and strength, so shall the Empire. It is for yours, and the Empires own good.”

“That’s not how it works.” Bulma shoved her way past Raditz—who might have sensed something would happen as he’d moved next to the woman moments earlier—and she came dangerously close to Letuccia. Jeice intervenes by blocking Bulma while raising a hand as though in question.

“If I may. I believe what Bulma is trying to say is that Saiyan law does not stand in the new Saiyan Empire. Because the _new _Saiyan Empire is a monarchy based solely on King Vegeta’s rule. The name ‘Saiyan Empire’ is just a name. You do not have power over the laws here.” Jeice points out before turning to the woman. “And, you seemed to forget that the only reason King Vegeta is king is that Bulma made sure of it by destroying Frieza’s empire.” He adds.

Lettucia’s eyes narrow on Bulma. “That might be, but the Empire is fragile as it is now. Many planets wish to defect, and those who feel forced into this alliance also want out. It seems that the goodwill acquired by destroying Frieza has thinned, and now you must find another way to keep your influence. A Tournament is what we need.”

Vegeta frowns but can’t deny that the Mistress has a point. Some excitement amongst the planets might prove beneficial—an opportunity to settle scores and bet on winners, too.

“We’ll hold the tournaments, but only voluntarily, and there will be no executions. The planets who wish to enter the Conclave of Power will receive praises and honor, but nothing more.” Vegeta confirms.

“Perhaps something more than honor? What about a seat at the table? You need to build a council—maybe this is how.” Jeice suggested with more diplomacy than Vegeta cared to admit, especially as the Saiyans didn’t look pleased with Vegeta’s compromise.

“And we’ll need a way to measure the strength of those who do not rely on ki for power. Just because a species is not physically strong doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a seat at the table.” Bulma interjects, much to the Saiyans chagrins. Lettucia, in particular, took a sharp, deep breath to protest, but her daughter steps forward before she can speak her objection.

“Perhaps we can honor other Saiyan traditions during the Conclave.” Pepper suggests, and the furtive look she shares with her mother has Vegeta frowning again. It was also hard to miss how Bulma’s gaze landed on the younger Saiyan, her cheeks instantly changing to a deeper red.

“Ah, _yes_.” Lettucia grins, and Vegeta knows he won’t like what she has to say. “We could hold the Challenges, too.” She finishes, and the Saiyans around Lettucia all mutter in agreement and excitement. Bulma shakes her head—not even knowing what the Challenges were, but somehow knowing it wouldn’t be a good thing. It felt a lot like a trap. Disagree, and he would have to contend with the Saiyan’s possible revolt. Agree, and he was most likely walking into Lettucia’s snare.

And yet, he needed the Saiyans. He needed them to be on his side—to help him run his Empire, and so he could finally be able to do what he desired most. His gaze turns to the woman, her blue hair coming undone from all her pacing and shoving, her eyes narrowed in apprehension. Something inside of him ached, then, and he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it. Vegeta felt infinitely tired at that moment.

“Fine. We will hold the Challenges and a ceremonial Conclave of Power.” No sooner did Vegeta say the words and regretted his decision. Especially as Lettucia’s daughter stepped forward, her eyes drilling into Vegeta’s as she spoke.

“I issue a challenge for the right to be King Vegeta’s mate,” Pepper announces, her words reverberating throughout the banquet hall like an avalanche. There are cheers and chants from the Saiyan’s around her, fist-pumping in encouragement. “I issue a challenge for the right to lead as Commander of the King’s legions!” A male shouted while fisting his chest, several others coming forward, accepting the challenge.

Raditz frowns, raising his gaze to Vegeta before turning to the woman. Bulma looks beyond shocked. Her blue eyes widen as she eyes Jeice before turning her gaze turns to Vegeta. Jeice shakes his head slowly, as though knowing this was not going to end well.

Vegeta, however, only had one thing to say.

“_Shit_.”

* * *

***~~~***

** _Present_ **

“Can we continue tomorrow?” Jeice begged, looking ready to pass out.

“What? No! We’re just getting to the good part.” Bra insisted, pleading Jeice with her eyes. He looked ready to collapse on his stool, though, and Bra had no choice but to agree. Jeice’s story was finally getting to the good parts, but Bra had to admit she was tired as well and was having a hard time keeping her eyes from closing as she sat on the booth. She showed him to his temporary room, which was the third-largest on the ship—with a private bathroom—before making her way to hers. The first thing she did was remove the wig from her head, running a hand over her short, blue locks.

“I still can’t believe you cut your hair.” Gohan’s words caught her off guard, and she turned around to face him as he leaned against the door of her room. His arms cross over his chest as his eyes linger on her face.

“It was in my way.” Bra retorted, unsure of his presence, especially with everything they’ve learned so far. She shook off her gold-tipped boots, deciding on ignoring him as she readied for bed.

“I know some of what happens next.” Gohan finally offers after a couple of seconds of silence. Bra shrugs as she tries unzipping her jumpsuit down her back, having to make a sort of funny dance as she struggles to reach the clip of the zipper.

“Do you need help?” Gohan offers, making Bra pause to look at him. “You want to help me undress?” She couldn’t help smirking, especially as Gohan scratched the back of his head, now realizing what he’d offered to do. Bra’s smirk falls, though, understanding that he probably asked because he was generally a helpful person, not because he had any interest in undressing her.

“If you unzip it a bit, I can get the rest.” Bra states as she turns around, suddenly exhausted with the rollercoaster of emotions she’d felt in just the last twenty-four hours. Deft fingers make quick work of the hidden zipper, but Gohan doesn’t stop mid-back as she expects but pulls the zipper all the way down at her lower back, exposing the entirety of her back to him and revealing the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The act is probably the most intimate they’ve shared between them.

Bra is slow to turn around, and she is surprised by what she finds once she faces Gohan again. His lips slightly parted, and his eyes glossy with something she can’t quite name. Her heart wants his look to be of desire, but her mind reminds her that he was most likely tired. He takes a step closer to her, so he’s now inside her room—leaving the neutrality of the door, which promptly wooshes closed. His moves are predatory, stalking her until they’re close enough to share breath.

“Why did you join the Conclave of Power?” The question leaves Bra’s lips without a second thought. “Why did you issue the Challenge?” Gohan was quick to counter. The last Conclave happened almost a year ago, as was tradition to hold the tournaments once a year in New Vegeta. A tradition that was revealed to have started with the arrival of the Saiyans. Bra thought she had the ultimate payback for both Gohan and Father, then. She would issue a Challenge for her hand in marriage, drawing out all the worthy suitors in the galaxy. She knew Gohan wouldn’t be able to sit idle—as her to, Elite guard, and self-proclaimed older brother (much to her dismay), he couldn’t allow as the wrong sort of men lined up to win her heart.

“I wanted to get your attention.” Bra answers frankly. Gohan arches a brow and doesn’t seem convinced with her response. “_My_ attention?” He questions, and for sure, Bra knows he doesn’t believe her. “Tailless Saiyans, Gohan. Of course, _your _attention! Who else?!” Exasperated and exhausted, Bra holds the jumpsuit to her chest with one hand as she slides the other free of the sleeve before doing the same with the other arm. She turns around, facing away from him as she removes the rest of her jumpsuit, leaving her with just panties on.

“How about your father’s attention?” Gohan counters, uncaring that she was undressing in front of him. The moment had come, then, they would finally have the fight they should have held months and months ago, laying themselves bare. In Bra’s case, it felt figurative and literal. She grabbed a tanktop from her dresser and threw it on in time to turn to face him.

“You think I would issue a Challenge for my hand in marriage to get my father’s attention?” Earthly gods, how could he be so dense?

“I think you issued the Challenge, knowing I’d have no choice but to enter the Conclave of Power, to get a reaction out of your father.” The way Gohan’s brows pulled together, the pure maleness of his demeanor, had Bra sweating. She just hoped he couldn’t sense the desire pouring from her as he stood so near.

“Then you are a moron, Gohan. If that’s what you think, then you don’t know me at all. And worse yet, I know you did it because you wanted my father’s approval. That’s all this has been about—you wanted his acceptance more than you’ve ever wanted me.” He seems to bristle with frustration at her statement and brings a fist to his forehead.

“You know….this is the most fucked up family in the universe.” He mutters, and Bra feels utterly defeated as Gohan half turns, presumably to leave her room.

“You’re right. Everything is a mess. Mom is gone, dad can’t function without her, and we’ve been trying to figure this out like Saiyans instead of what we are.” They were halflings, trying to act Saiyan when they should be human and allowing their human emotions to govern their actions when they should try to keep a leveled head. Gohan pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes pressing close.

“You won’t like tomorrow’s story, Bee,” Gohan warns, and Bra frowns, unsure of what he means. Their eyes lock, and Bra feels small again, like a child--like when she depended on Gohan for protection. “I know you don’t like to hear this, but for a long time, you were my little sister. And many of the things I did back then were to protect you.” His statement felt like an energy beam straight through her heart. She had to bite her lower lip to keep her eyes from watering.

“Is that how you still see me?” There—she asked the question. Whatever the answer might be, she needed to face the answer.

“No.” His response was nothing but absolute. Bra’s heart quickened, and she was sure he could hear it. Gohan once again stalked up to her until they were mere inches apart. His dark eyes lingered on her lips before locking with her blue eyes. Bra made to speak, her lips parting—but Gohan interrupted her as his lips crashed against hers. His hands dug into her short hair, holding her in place as he looked to devour her with his lips and tongue. No sooner did Bra get over the shock of the electrifying kiss, did Gohan pull away.

“Just remember…”, he says, somewhat out of breath, “Things have changed.” And with that, he left out the door, leaving Bra bewildered but hopeful for the first time in a long, long time. A small smile grazes her lips—she was sure to relive that kiss in her dreams tonight.

* * *

Thank you for reading! The pace will be picking up in the next chapters :) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! More to come soon (and more often).


End file.
